The name's Stan St- Stanford Stanford Pines
by Crazycatscarmen
Summary: Stan Pines gets de-aged redo. I made another one called...uh...it's a really long title idk. SO. This one is DEFINITELY gonna be updated. I've also had this sitting in my doc manager for way too long...heh. Okay so love you guys I hope you like this thingy! No triggers so far. (Rated T for future adventures! And the burning brand on his back...)
1. I

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 _November 18th, 1981._

Cool water ran over his back, sizzling as it washed over the still glowing rune on his shoulder. His fists clenched as it continued to burn. The cold water was doing nothing to soothe the pain.

After several more non-successful minutes, he gave up. He turned off the faucet with a sigh and stepped out of the shower. Using one hand to towel off his hair, he craned his neck to try and glance at his back in the mirror. His fingers pulled at the skin on his shoulder, bringing the wound closer into his field of vision. The burn didn't like that. He only managed to see a glimpse of yellow before giving up again.

He ran a tired hand over his face as he pulled on his last pair of clothes. This had been the third time he had tried to relieve the constant stinging with cold water in the last three days. It hadn't worked either time before. In fact, he could have sworn the pain only worsened with each attempt.

He tumbled out of the bathroom, leaving the towel and discarded clothing behind him. It wasn't like there was anyone to complain about his mess, so why bother cleaning it up?

As he clomped down the stairs, the short hallway seemed to sway. He wasn't doing so well health-wise. He hadn't been sleeping and the brand, always burning, made his shirts smoke. Which wouldn't be a problem, but it irritated his lungs. {Once he thought about it, he considered going shirtless unless he was outside.}

It had been four days since the incident. Since then he hadn't eaten, slept or otherwise taken care of himself, apart from the showers. He...couldn't. Any time he tried, his stomach churned and his chest tightened to the point of pain. So he didn't. Instead, he poured over the pages of his brother's journal, until the sun came over the horizon. Passing out at his brother's desk when it did.

He stumbled off the last step and had to catch himself before he fell onto the ground. He caught the rail, pulling himself up and brushed it aside, dragging himself into the kitchen. The light flicked up with a click and almost immediately he faced a jumbled mess. He had to traverse several suspicious items before he reached his destination. The kitchen cupboard.

In his defense, the kitchen had been a mess before his arrival.

Grabbing at the last bag of saltines, he pulled away from the cupboard and walked back into the living room. He had stuffed three crackers into his mouth by the time he realized his throat was bone dry.

Ya know as one does.

In his defense, he had been in the shower. One would think this would be hydrating.

He sighed as he threw himself onto the couch. Dust flew up into the air and he sneezed, the force of it almost making him jump.

Darn allergies.

The bag of crackers sat at his side and he stared at them. Who thought that making something that tasted like salted cardboard was a good idea? Who woke up one day said to themselves, "I'm going to make ambiguous salted squares and sell them to everyone."

Whoever they were, he envied them. At least their dumb idea worked. They must have lived out the rest of their days with a house and at least a few friends and, of course, food to eat.

He had none of that. He had a may-be-dead-may-not-be-dead brother in another dimension. He had that brother's identity, his brother's house. He had a dry throat and pure fatigue that sat like lead in his bones.

There was no money to keep said house. There were no friends connected to said identity. There was nothing.

Yet he had everything he'd ever missed, didn't he? He had a roof over his head {that wasn't his car}. He had a purpose. He had a _chance_.

He gazed at the walls, covered in strange jars and metal trinkets. At that moment, something snapped together in his mind. His eyes glinted as he swooped down and picked up the first book he saw off the floor.

So this wasn't exactly what he'd asked for.

But no one, not even the universe, could tell Stan Pines what he can and can't do.


	2. II

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 _November 18, 2012._

Dipper's brows furrowed. "Mabel...I'm not sure this is a good idea." He said, biting his lip as she laughed.

"Of _course,_ it's a good idea!" She unscrewed the lid of the bottle and poured in a generous amount of a glittering orange liquid. "You worry too much."

...

He rolled out of bed, his limbs limp with sleep. Although he had been getting more sleep than usual, five hours a night still wasn't enough.

You think after thirty years it would be.

After staring at his closet for a good three minutes, he reached for his suit and threw it on, yawning as he walked out of his room. One cup of coffee and then straight to work.

No time to waste. He was so close. Too close.

His feet were heavy as he walked down the stairs, dragging himself into the kitchen. He reached the table and stopped.

There was a plate, stacked high with questionable foods, a steaming black coffee, and one glitterfied note. His brows knitted as he picked up the note, readjusting his glasses.

 _Hey Grunkle Stan! We made you breakfast because we woke up early and we love you! Waddles tried to eat it but I didn't let him. ~Love, Mabel {and Dipper!}_

Stan smiled, huffing as he sat down. He slipped the note into his inner jacket pocket before picking up his fork.

 _Thanks, Kids._


	3. III

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 _November 19th, 2012._

Stan Pines had seen a lot of "Bullcrap, ArE You FREAkINg KiddING ME," in his lifetime. Even things that were _familiar_ to him were mind-boggling.

His brother's fingers.

The Jersey Devil. (Long story.)

A troll.

A robber with three fingers and an eye. No no, seriously. Just _one_ eye.

Redwood trees. {They were just kinda freaky, okay!?}

A man in a Smurf costume.

All of these things were things he'd seen, dealt with, acknowledged as a part of his world. (Okay maybe not the troll. It had been repulsive enough to give him nightmares...)

Yet, even with these experiences, nothing had strengthened his mind for Gravity Falls. The place was almost like that stew your mother makes by just _throwing_ random things into the pot. You had no idea what was happening _ever_ and every new spoonful is a surprise.

His first day there, he got to see his brother sucked into another dimension via a dangerous portal. His eighth week, the gnomes got a little too familiar with the fridge in the kitchen. Nothing was as it seemed and the strangest part of it all?

No one cared. No one _noticed._ Stan laughed every night at how _oblivious_ the townsfolk were! He never thought of them as stupid, but to think they never _noticed_ about the world around them made him chuckle.

It wasn't too upsetting that he was the only one to notice. He took advantage of it. Even shielded them from the more obvious (and a few of the not-so-obvious) threats that had been plaguing the town. True, they seemed to get along just fine _without_ his help...but he couldn't exactly risk it when they were the sole contributors to his unreliable income.

And he had accepted. It was hard, at first. Sometimes he would wonder if it wasn't all just a dream, but eventually, it began to be normal. Almost routine for the gnomes to steal his trash, or for the flowers to start screaming.

Today, however...

"No, no way! I don't believe ya." He crossed his arms, holding them tight against his chest.

The girl groaned, pushing her hands into her eyes. "This wasn't meant to happen! You- you weren't supposed to lose your memories too!"

Stan took a step back as the boy began babbling to his sister, glancing at Stan every so often.

Being honest with himself, he wasn't quite sure what was happening.

Just a few moments ago, he'd been on the couch, falling asleep...and there was something else too...saltines? No, no that wasn't it...the business plan! That's right.

After he'd realized the copious amount of work required to fix the portal, he knew that he would need more than just lightly baked carbohydrates to keep him moving. Suddenly his priority had shifted. From nearly breaking levers and punching buttons, to making money. Fortunately for him, the people here were _very_ gullible.

Not to mention, he had plenty of experiences to tell him exactly how to _not_ run a business.

 _Un_ fortunately, both the portal and his shaky game plan were taking sides cars on this motorcycle ride at the moment, because instead of waking up on the couch, as he'd expected, he had woken up on his _brother's_ bed, wearing _some_ car salesman's _suit_!

And if that wasn't _freaky_ enough, two kids had _broken into his brother's house,_ trying to convince him he was in the future!

It wasn't that it wasn't _possible,_ he figured, it was just incredibly improbable.

"C'mon Grunkle Stan! Ya gotta believe me!" The girl grabbed at his sleeve and tugged on it lightly, her eyes wide, "Please...you have to believe me."

Stan stared at her, his face going slack. She...she was so sincere. He grunted, flicking off her childlike hand. "Don't touch me, kid. I'm thinkin'."

The boy pulled the girl away, keeping one hand on her shoulder."Mabel, um, why don't we show Grunkle Stan the house? No one can fake thirty years of aging in just a night!" He glanced at Stan, pulling on the edges of his vest, "Does that sound okay?" The boy couldn't hold Stan's stare and looked away, mumbling under his breath, "You're a great liar, you should've realized we're telling the truth already."

Stan didn't think he was supposed to hear the last part, but something about the statement threw him for a loop. How could this kid know...? Know _anything_ about him?

His arms tightened against his chest, but he nodded, gesturing for them to lead the way.

 _If I really have been...de-aged or whatever and I'm in the future...then where's Stanford? Have I saved him already?_

 _Did I give up?_

Stan shook the thought away. The very idea brought bile up from his stomach and into his throat. He swallowed as he followed the strange children out of the hallway.

 _I can't worry about him right now._

"And this is the gift shop!"

Stan gaped at the scene in front of him.

 _Definitely can't worry about him right now._ He cleared his throat.

"So uh...what was that again about you two being my great-niece and nephew?" He asked. Suddenly it didn't seem so impossible anymore.

He was starting to wonder if anything was impossible, or if everything he'd learned as a kid had been a lie.

Both kids began the story from the top and he sat down. He had a feeling it was going to be a long story.

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 **HEY GUYS! I told ya'll I'd update something! Thanks to everyone for the awesome reviews! I really missed 'em. MM OMIGOSH WHY. XD YOU IMPERSONATED MCGUCKET, GUYS, THIS GIRL IS GOALS IN LIFE, I'M SO PROUD OF YA SIS. Thanks for existing, like seriously. I'm STILL laughing!**

 **I totally blanked on how to find your channel, so, unfortunately, I have not seen the movie. (PLEASE HELP, HOW DO I GET TO IT?) ALSO, YES I'M SORRY I DIDN'T FORGET, HOW COULD I EVER FORGET EXPOSITION IS EXPOSITIONY!? {also you are never annoying and I am FILLED WITH JOY that you liked my weird bread skit, lol I nearly forgot that I had written it.}**

 **Anyway, to all my other readers, THANKS FOR READING Sorry this chapter was so short. I've had it for a while, but I didn't know how to...like write the middle or the end? So...it was procrastinated. For months. And months. Oops. I was GONNA write pure angst...but I didn't. Yay!?**

 **I'm too weird, I'm sorry. I have conversations with anons mid-end card and I key smash, so thanks for putting up with me! I gotta go um...watch Psych now...be** **cause that's important. Please, have another weird thing for reading this far!**

 **Ford: ...What? I'm not going to be amusing just because you want to appease some strangers behind a screen!**

 **Stan: I think ya already failed bro. Anyway, I'ma fly back to the winged Stan au because of reasons. *flys away***

 **Ford: ...you don't...have wings!? WHAT IS HAPPENING!? STAN COME BACK! *runs after his twin***

 **Why hasn't anyone turned me into wood yet...?**


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